The nutter in the street. That’s my job!

april14 1.30pme
I live in a quiet neighborhood in an even quieter cul-de-sac. It’s quite a sought after street.
Until recently I thought that I was the street weirdo. You know, the one that the neighborhood kids stay away from. I see myself as the Boo Radley of our street. To be honest I quite like being the local weirdo. Anyone who has read my book I SPIDER would know that weirdo is a title I deserve and a badge I wear with some honor. But recently I’ve come up against some stiff opposition and even though it frightens me to say so, I may not be the oddest person living in our street.
There’s been a few small incidents. An eighteen year old bloke sneaked up to our house at 1 in the morning and cut my garden hose. My bedroom window overlooks the front yard so I watched the whole thing. I put it down to teenage shenanigans. There’s the murder house in the street where a man killed his gay lover. In another house a father of two overdosed and died. And there’s a home with fifteen foster children all in different stages of psychosis. (Apparently the couple who own the house make a small fortune for each child they house.) This is all in a street with only twenty houses.
I’m most worried though by a fellow who not only takes my title of street weirdo, but he makes me appear sane, he also makes me worry for the safety of my five and ten year old daughters. (He’s good at being weird).
King Weirdo was first brought to my attention by one of my next door neighbors. She was worried; he and his bulldog had been checking out every house in our street, entering peoples front yards and looking over fences. She spent the whole day watching him.
King weirdo returned the next day and this time I watched him and his dog checking out the houses… including my house.
My wife called the Police, they never turned up.
It turns out that he lives in our street, in the house at the very end of the cul-de-sac. Perhaps he was just walking his dog.
Over the past six months The King has turned up on many occasions.
His dog is generally off the lead and it’s often sniffing around my front door, while he’s standing right beside it, my door is 25 meters from the road. My presence doesn’t seem to bother him, he just puts the dog back on the lead and leaves. I’ve watched him walking around the front yard of the house across the street on at least five occasions. One time he had parked his car in front of their driveway and was walking up and down with his dog off the leash. I opened my Venetian blinds loudly and caught his attention. He simply put the dog back on the leash, got back in his car and left.
Two days later the woman from across the road came over to say that her cat hadn’t come home for 48 hours. She also told me that King weirdo was seen by another neighbor sicking his dog onto her cat. IT NOW ALL MADE SENSE. The day he was parked in their driveway I saw the cat desperately trying to escape over the fence. All the times he was sitting on the grass outside of my place he was goading the dog to attack the neighbors cat.
The neighbors cat mysteriously reappeared as did King weirdo.
Unfortunately about this time I landscaped the back yard. So we were forced to put our rabbit on our front lawn during the day. (It is in a cage and has a house it can retreat to.)
King turned up with his dog. I was there watching him so he quickly put it back on the leash.
Two days later my wife called. “The weirdo with the dog just drove past really slowly and pointed at our rabbit.”
I was standing at the window when ten minutes later his dog burst around the corner on a long leash. He held the leash as the dog tried to force its way into the rabbit cage. He saw me and left.
Next day same thing. This time the dog wasn’t on a leash. This time I took photos.
We reported it to the police again. “It’s a council problem.”
We reported him to council. They said that they’d patrol the area. I never saw them.
He didn’t return for a couple of days after he saw me taking photos, but he did return.
One day I discover the rabbits cage all pushed in and its water turned over. The rabbit was trembling. So I moved the rabbit around to the back yard. (I couldn’t leave it as bait while waiting for the council to do their job.)
Now I’m a fairly big bloke. I’m 110 kg surfer with the scowl of a professional neighborhood weirdo. I couldn’t believe how little shame the guy has. He just looks at me with a smug smile and a pathetic sorry guvner nod of his head.
“I’m going to find it really hard not to confront him if he comes back.” I said to my wife.
“Don’t you do anything.” She said.
Sure enough he came back and of course I confronted him.
“The man with the dog is back.” My daughter screamed.
I watched as the dog without a leash honed in on where the rabbit used to be. Then it continued on up the side of my house where King pretended to put the lead on his dog, while all the time looking over the back fence for the rabbit.
He had the dog back on the lead, then he saw the cat across the road, so he let the dog off the leash.
They ran across the street and cornered the cat, with King weirdo on one side and the dog on the other.
While King egged his dog on the cat arched its back and spat.
But the dog had its chase and it wasn’t really interested in the cat. I think it has quite a gentle nature. Once again he put the lead back on his dog.
Through all of this I bit my tongue and took photos with my iPhone.
But King still hadn’t had enough. With a patented sneer on his face he headed back towards my back yard and the rabbit.
The dog headed straight past my front door, the door I burst out of yelling.
The other fathers in the street probably would have handled it more diplomatically. They have jobs like High School Teacher and Banker. They would have been very calm. I instead had steam coming out of my ears and bile coming out of my mouth.
“Piss off! Piss off!”
Both the dog and his master stopped and stared at me.
“What are you doing? What are you doing?”
King bent down to put the leash back on his dog.
“I’m not doing anything.” He said.
(Still shouting.) “Is there something wrong with you? Is there something wrong with you?”
For some unknown reason I was repeating everything.
“Why would you do that you gutless cunt? What sort of grown man bullies a defenseless cat? Is there something wrong with you?”
As I watched King scurry back to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac I noticed that a couple of the neighborhood kids stood opened mouthed, they had witnessed the whole thing.
I was so embarrassed.
Once again my wife contacted both the Police and the Council. Council said that if he is training his dog to attack, it’s a police problem. If he trespasses again and I take photos the Police might do something.
So my throne is looking decidedly shaky. I fear that my title of street weirdo belongs to another.






Let me die in peace.

Why is it that when you are having an asthma attack and cannot breath someone asks you a question like? “Are you OK?” And you feel obliged to answer.
A sneezing fit. “You OK?”
Coughing your lungs up. “You alright there?”
So for all those caring soles who ask a question when you are least able to respond, here is the answer.

Don’t wait to be told.


My four year old daughter and I recently spent a few consecutive days parking in an underground parking station. We parked pretty much exclusively on levels B1 and B2 both popular characters in the Bananas in Pajamas kids show.

As we entered the lift my daughter was singing the theme song from the Bananas in Pajamas show. The lift was packed and I asked someone to press the button for level ‘O’.

In a loud voice my daughter said. “Do you have BO Daddy?” And then triumphantly she announced to everybody. “My Daddy has BO.”

Cub Scouts on Rampage.

Elderly Lady: “How dare you! This is a walking track, it’s not for pushbikes. It’s just dangerous.” Bits of bile gathered at the corners of her mouth as she spat her venom. “Are you people imbeciles? Taking a group of this size out. Somebody’s bound to get hurt. it’s just idiotic.” … and so the rant continued, getting more spiteful and bitter by the second.
My daughter was invested into Cub Scouts last night. To make the investment a bit special the troupe cycled along a fifteen foot wide dirt track into the bush. A sign clearly stated that it was a walking and a cycling track.
As the elderly woman got more wound up she got nastier, she called the cub leaders names like “Foolish” and “dim-witted”. The leaders were very gracious, to the point where they politely said ‘Have a nice day.”
But it didn’t end there. When we passed her on the way back she once again gave us a verbal tirade.
I am not polite, I’m not a cub leader, in fact I’m a complete arse hole. So all I wanted to do was to verbally tear this very proper pompous woman to shreds.
I had all the lines swimming around in my head.
“If these children cycling on this cycleway worry you so much you should call the police. You’re clearly not very smart so I’ll help you out, the number is OOO. I can see the headlines now. CUB SCOUTS ARRESTED FOR CYCLING ON CYCLEWAY. “Police commissioner cracks down on gangs of cub scouts.” “Cub scouts banned from wearing their colours in public.”
I even had visions of the Police Commissioner standing in front of the media and saying: “It’s proved way too difficult to tackle organized crime and the Bikie gangs that supply crack cocaine to our neighborhoods so instead we’re cracking down on marauding gangs of Cub Scouts. We’re making it illegal for these groups or gangs to operate. Finally Old Ladies who want to cross the street unaided can rest easily.”
With all of the children standing around I stopped myself from causing a scene. But I’m thinking of putting posters up on the walking track so that the Elderly lady can see them. What do you think?










Liza Roach rated it 5 of 5 stars

I loved this book! All the stories were great and the twists were so out there. But the best we’re definitely ‘”Voices of the Soul” by Rene Folsom and “Suburban Zombie” by Anthony Lance. Whoa!

Claire Thake rated it 5 of 5 stars

A brilliant anthology separated into 11 short stories. I don’t want to ruin the surprise of any of the stories so has instead written by opinions of them all individually not giving the stories away.

Suburban Zombie – Anthony Lance
This really made me giggle! A very well written, alternative view on zombie life! A very interesting short read.

S. Policar rated it 4 of 5 stars

Since this is an Anthology This review will be slightly different. As Anthologies are a comprised of more than story, it would do the book as a whole a great injustice to review and rate the book as such. This review I image will be quite lengthy as I’m going to break down and review each individual story within this book’s covers…

5) Suburban Zombie by Anthony Lance

I’ve read my share of zombie stories. None are as creative as this one is. This is the funniest story I’ve read yet. The fact of a bunch of zombie women sitting around talking about health risks made me laugh until my ribs hurt!
Now before anyone starts complaining about the use of Mormons being the “zombies” in this parody.. You really need to evaluate. There is no other religious sect that could have been put in that role. Every non Mormon at one point or another has been hounded by a Mormon or a two. They don’t care when you tell them you aren’t interested in what they say, they come back numerous times until you’re scared to leave your house.
I applaud this Author for being brave enough to take something we all think and twisting it into this hysterical story… Even if he thinks those of us that aren’t zombies are just brainless zombies.
5 of 5

Natalie‘s rated it 5 of 5 stars

Paranormal Anthology With A Twist
Edited And Compiled By Cynthia Shepp & Rene Folsom

*Suburban Zombie by Anthony Lance*

This is definitely not your every day, typical kind of zombie story. First time ever….but I will not be revealing anything about it. Why you ask?
It needs to be read by the reader in order to fully appreciate the humour. Anthony had me laughing out loud and enjoying every word of his imagination.
Kudos to you Anthony Lance. What a unique read with some very gory and laughable details.

Julia rated it 4 of 5 stars

Suburban Zombie – I thought this was funny and original. I liked all the dark humour.

Patricia Shull rated it 4 of 5 stars

This was actually a really good book. The stories in here centre around some sort of disaster, crises or murderer and they have a twist that you don’t expect. The story I probably most enjoyed was Suburban Zombie. Everyone in the story is a zombie. They live their lives like a normal everyday person. But one day they are attacked by none other than Mormons. When bitten by a Mormon, you become a normal human wearing nice dress clothes and carrying a bible. I laughed so hard when I read this one. Like seriously? Mormons? Some of the stories are mediocre at best but still very good reads.

Terri Kinckner rated it 5 of 5 stars

Suburban Zombie, by Anthony Lance

Neighbours Ted, Dave and their respective families are zombies. They live in a picture-perfect neighbourhood in zombie suburbia. As the mothers in the neighbourhood drop their children off at school and discuss crumbed brains among themselves, they don’t realize they are being followed. The neighbourhood is being invaded by…

The twist in this story is very ironic and hilarious. I loved the banter between the characters, and laughed out loud quite a few times while reading it. I will never think of zombies the same way after reading this!

Ashley rated it 5 of 5 stars

I enjoyed this book more than the Apocalypse one! These stories were more along the storyline I enjoy. But, they were both great and had wonderful authors! I loved the first story in this one. I read all of the books in the Soul Seers series! Rene Folsum is a great author! My other favorite was Suburban Zombie! By the title I was a little unsure but it was fantastic! Hilarious and I loved it! Anthony Lance hit a home run on that story! This was a great collection of stories and would highly recommend you read it!

The books that travelled the globe


We’ve all heard of the ‘well traveled author’, but this is a story about a secret global quest undertaken by a couple of books.

It all started about six months ago, two copies of the book PARANORMAL ANTHOLOGY WITH A TWIST began a journey that would take them around the World, where the books would be signed by each of the eleven authors.

Visiting three continents, the books began their journey in Washington D.C. Then they traveled to Sydney, Australia and then on to Germany. From Germany they were sent back to mainland America were they visited Colorado, Idaho, Florida Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Hollywood California.

During their travels the books disappeared in the postal system of a German military base for a short time, and were even lost in the back of one of the author’s father’s van for a month or so.

A little travel worn on the spine, last week the books finally found a sweet home in Alabama with Cynthia Shepp, the books editor.

There’s a book in that!

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One Cold Day


I was on my way out to lunch when my phone rang, I raced back and answered it. “Hello”, I panted slightly out of breath. The phone crackled and buzzed, and there didn’t seem to be anyone on the other end of the landline. “hello”, I repeated.

A loud but faint (if there can be such a thing) crackly male voice said the words.

“Giffa deretalination frort”.

The phone line was dreadful and I could barely make anything out through the crackles and pops.

“Hello”, I said again.

“Heellooo….. argfff ttweny sargossaa.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get any of that.”

To make it even worse, the voice on the other end of the line had a thick Russian accent. “I am from Soviet Union… Russia. ” I barely made out. At that moment I came within inches of hanging up. I was being pranked. It was the height of the Cold War (maybe 1986) and as far as I knew The Soviet Union were virtually at war with the West. At least that’s what the last ten movies I’d seen suggested.

It sounded as though the call was coming from Siberia. So I didn’t hang up, not yet anyway.

“Russia ehhh. How’s the weather?”

“Is this Powerhouse museum?”

“Yes.” I said.

“I’m calling ’bout Soviet Space craft.”


At this point he started to break up again and I couldn’t understand a word he said.

“We are bbzzwwwaaa Sputnik and Soyuz space module.”

There was something about the way he said this that made me start to take the call seriously.

The Russian started to speak very slowly and very clearly; clearly he was speaking to an idiot.

“S o v i e t    U n i o n    i s    d o n a t i n g    S p a c e    C r a f t    t o    p o w e r h o u s e    m u s e u m.”

“Oh.” I said. “I’ll just try to find someone who can help you with that.    H o l d    o n    f o r    a    s e c o n d.”

Like a headless chicken I ran around the empty offices of the old building on Harris Street looking for someone, anyone, but it was Friday lunch and the Public Service. The pressure I felt was suffocating, like the future of EAST WEST political stability rested solely on my shoulders.

After five minutes of looking everywhere I slowly walked back to the phone and to my surprise the Gentleman from Russia was still there, standing in a blizzard if the phone line was anything to go by.

“Can I take a message?” I said in my chirpiest phone voice.

“I think I call back.” The phone line was surprisingly clear.


I spent the next week waiting for the bomb to drop.


Shine on.


I’d like to thank Journey Around the world (it’s a tough job but someone’s got to do it) for nominating me for a SHINE ON award. Check out the blog it’s got everything from hotel reviews to recipes and all from amazing parts of the World.
Here are the rules come with the acceptance of the this Award:
 1. You must thank the person who has given you the award.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link the person who has nominated you for the award.
4. State 7 things about yourself :
a. I have a bunch of Lorikeets come and knock on the door each morning to be fed. they hang upside down on the fly screen.
b. I drink Shiraz and lots of it.
c. When I hang clothes on the washing line my wife takes them off and rehangs them.
d. I am waiting for my wife to read my second novel, then I’ll tidy it up and look into the best way to publish.
e. I think my house has a Demon.
f. I just painted the roof in my bedroom because it was blistering and pealing (Because of the demon) and as the fresh paint was drying it was blistering.
g. I love bananas.
5. I would like to nominate the following 3 bloggers:
Kimberlyakinola: Amazing fashion
Rolly at Comedy in crisis: Very funny
Michael Lai   at retiree diary: Great shots from around the World

Murder half baked



Her life-flame had fizzled to barely an ember; who would have thought that it would be so difficult to extinguish? The stubborn old bat. Her eyes had all but failed her, her hips were shot and much of the time she was bed ridden.

Even with enough poisonous chemicals in her system to clean an Olympic pool Muriel Baker held on to life with tenacity. It was not her will to live or her faith that dragged her through each day; it was pure pigheadedness.

For six months Muriel had been in and out of Balmain hospital. Twice the hospital staff had detected high levels of chemicals, but both times these were attributed to one of the long list of medication that rattled inside her as though she were a gumball machine. Both times the hospital staff simply changed the tablets. It never occurred to them that she was deliberately being poisoned.

It all began the first day of the local County fair. The cakes looked glorious. Some were elaborately designed with thick blue-grey icing and row upon row of small, perfect roses on their sides. But these were not the cakes that interested Ethel Odlum. Her eyes were fixed upon seven small, uninteresting slabs of fruitcake, some only two inches high. These were some of the finest cakes ever baked and Ethel’s cake was the most remarkable cake she had ever prepared. All year she had worked tirelessly to improve her recipe and she truly believed this would be her year; this would be the year that she beat her Great Aunty Muriel’s cake for the first time. Surely she, a chemist for all of her life, could rise above a recipe that had been created in the 1800’s. Yes, it was rumored that Muriel’s famous fruitcake recipe had been handed down through over five generations.

But there before Ethel’s eyes, perched at an odd angle, sat a red rosette for second place. As if to mock her, just beside her cake was Muriel’s cake, as it had been at so many shows in the past, adorned by a royal blue ribbon indicating first place. It was at that precise moment, that Ethel, with a taste of bile in the back of her throat, cooked up the plan to acquire Muriel’s precious recipe. She would poison the old cow. Protocol dictated that Muriel must pass the recipe on to someone within the family. Ethel guessed that Eve, Muriel’s long suffering Great Granddaughter would get it. As Muriel’s health had deteriorated Eve had loyally tended to her. If she didn’t leave the recipe to Eve then Ethel was the next in line. Yes, the recipe would be hers. Eve had no taste for baking, if she didn’t give the recipe to Ethel she would part with it for a small price at most.

The day came when Muriel’s suffering finally ended. Her weak heart simply stopped in the middle of the night. The pomp and ceremony of her service would have been elaborate for a Catholic Cardinal, but the enormous church was virtually empty. The service delivered to empty pews, for a cranky old woman who had no friends, it was farcical. Four or five people milled around for the service and then only Eve stayed to mourn the old lady’s death. On the day of the reading of the Will only Eve and Ethel turned up. As suspected, what few possessions Muriel had acquired during her Spartan life were left to Eve. And that was it. The book was closed and the solicitor went to leave. “What about the cake? The recipe, where’s the recipe?” As a gesture of good will the solicitor sat down and took Ethel through each of the itemized possessions, there was no recipe. “The stubborn old bat.” Ethel screeched. Muriel had taken the recipe to her grave, it lay buried under a marble epitaph, so elaborate it could have been the decoration on top of a wedding cake.